Burn: Outlaw Romance (Hotter Than Hell Book 3) (14 page)

Dax

THE FEAR IN HER
eyes surprised me before we took off on the bike. It’s the first time I’ve noticed anything besides anger, disgust, or desire shining in those dark orbs. She’s a tough cookie, and I’m learning her eyes hold the answers. I don’t think she’s accustomed to hiding her feelings and the last twenty-four hours haven’t been easy on her. I’m aware from Red’s story that her fists do a lot of her talking. She fascinates me while keeping my fucking dick hard. It’s not a combination I’m accustomed to.

We’re heading to Payson early on a Sunday morning and the road is mostly empty. Sofia’s arms locked tightly around my waist make the ride sweeter. It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden with a babe on the back. It wasn’t something Savannah cared for. I gain speed and enjoy the wind against my face and the roar of the engine. I allow my thoughts to settle on the club. There’s nothing like working out problems while flying free.

The brothers need to take a ride next weekend. Sometimes talking and fighting don’t resolve what a club ride can. As corny as it sounds, riding free brings a sense of harmony. I bought this bike before I married Savannah. It was the only thing Savannah’s father didn’t fight me to keep when I got out of prison. I have a picture of her, which I keep in my wallet, our wedding rings, and this bike. That first year after leaving a cell I couldn’t so much as ride in a car. Too confined. I needed open air without a cage. Then I hooked up with the Crows and because we all had similar backgrounds, they understood.

Definitely a ride next weekend.

The drug buy will take place Friday night. We’re in a sticky situation with the people delivering the drugs. They dealt with Fox and his Sergeant at Arms, Clutch. We need to get out from under them and I can only hope the plan we decided on will work. I’ll worry about it later. Right now I’m enjoying the freedom I missed so much while I was behind bars. I’d rather die than go back.

Sofia barely moves and that makes me smile, until a bug flies into my mouth. Even eating bugs is better than prison. It’s a twenty-minute ride to Payson. We hit the Sonic on the right side of the highway by the casino. I roll the bike under the covered parking and turn off the engine. “We can take it back to the club or eat on the patio,” I tell her.

“Patio, please,” she says in a shaky voice. She’s trembling when I take her hand and help her off the bike. She won’t look at me. I squeeze her fingers and pretend I have no idea how terrified she was to ride.

I’ll admit I’m wary about having her in public. I don’t need trouble with the cops. I’m not wearing my colors or carrying my gun. As an ex-con, I’m a prohibited possessor of a gun. Sofia needs to keep it casual and I’m hoping my threat against Red will do the trick. Even so, I don’t see her as someone who cries to the cops. She fucking pointed a gun at me yesterday. She also planned to murder Fox.

We place our order. This isn’t exactly how you wine and dine a girl. This is me, though. After seven years of hell inside prison, I’d rather eat fast food whenever possible than sit inside a restaurant. I take a good long look at Sofia.

She takes off the sunglasses and moves a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that,
bolillo
?”

“
Bolillo
?”

“Never heard a white slur before?”

I can’t help the grin that splits my face. She’s always challenging me. “Never heard that particular one, princess.” Her eyes are almost black. I’d like to see them burning as I ram my cock into her tight little pussy.

“It means white bread bun.”

My laugh is loud in the quiet setting. No one else is sitting outside their vehicle. It’s in the low eighties up here in the mountains. Much cooler than Phoenix but still hot enough to stay in the car with the air cranked. “That the best insult you got?”

For the first time, her eyes crinkle with laughter and her lips twitch. “Well there is dog fucker but I’m saving that one.”

I think about that before asking, “What the hell does that have to do with being white?”

She bites her lip and I know she’s doing her best to keep from smiling. It’s so fucking sexy. “Didn’t you know that bestiality porn is all done by white dudes?”

I almost spit out my drink. “You shittin’ me and how the fuck would you know that? Don’t tell me you’re into that shit.” God, I hope not. My dick was getting a charge out of this conversation and now it’s wilting faster than picked daisies.

She innocently blinks her long eyelashes. “No. You may not have noticed but my skin is a nice brown tone. That keeps me from fucking sheep.” Her smile breaks through and I want nothing more than to kiss her. No… devour her. “It rather sucks that there aren’t more derogatory descriptive white slams,” she continues. “Your people have no problem finding terms for anyone without pasty skin.”

Her kind, my kind. “Why does there need to be a kind?” I ask because I’m truly interested in her answer.

Her laugh is bitter, the smile disappears, and her voice goes tight. “You’re the president of a skinhead motorcycle gang and you have the balls to ask me that?”

I look out over the parking lot and gaze at the desert hills to the south. Another block or two north and pine trees take over. Payson is a mountain town around five thousand feet above sea level. Peach City is at three thousand and it’s much hotter. I bring my focus back to Sofia. I’ve never explained myself to anyone. It’s not a pretty story and there are parts that I keep deeply buried. “First: We’re a club, not a gang. And second: What do you think would have happened to you yesterday if you tried to kill Fox?” I refuse to call that piece of shit her father.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Hopefully I wouldn’t have missed.” I hear the resolve in her voice.

“He was a mean son of a bitch and you look nothing like him. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He’d have killed you. Slit your throat most likely. No chance he would have passed you around to the men because they wouldn’t stick their dick in your Latina pussy.” She doesn’t look angry, just curious, so I continue. “Not that they wouldn’t want to. It’s a nice pussy,” I say trying to lighten the mood. She doesn’t look away and her tight expression stays in place. It was a poor joke but I’ll admit she flusters me. “The brothers followed Fox because he brought them together and offered protection as long as they lived by his rules. He was no good for them... us. I’m trying to change that. It won’t happen overnight. I can’t erase years of segregation and hatred in a day or even a week.” I clench my teeth and get to the heart of the problem. “You and your vengeance, or whatever you want to call it, almost ruined everything.”

Before she can respond, a teenage waitress on roller skates delivers our food. I pay with cash and give her a five dollar tip. Her eyes light up and she thanks me with a shy smile before asking if there’s anything else we need before she heads back in.

Sofia takes a long sip from her drink and rips into her egg sandwich. “Change how?” she asks after two bites.

I enjoy the taste of my sandwich before answering. “The brothers came out of the prison system. It’s a rough place and if you don’t have protection inside, your life isn’t worth shit. I know because I tried to play that game. Had the shit beat out of me, so I hooked up with the Aryans.” I stop talking for a moment and give myself time to decide how much to say. I gaze back at the desert hills and continue. “Coming into the real world when you get out isn’t easy. If you have no support, you end up back inside. Fox offered a sense of family.” I give a disgusted laugh and fix my gaze on Sofia. “Before I knew what happened, I was doing fucked up shit for him. Once you’re in that deep, you’re in.” I so badly want her to understand. “Fox was getting crazier every day. If it wasn’t me who took him out, someone else would have. Doesn’t mean it would have been better for the men of the club.” I take another bite and swallow it down with a gulp of soda. “I want better. All the brothers do. Some are still mixed up with the ethnic shit from prison. Maybe they’ll change, maybe they won’t. The rest don’t really give a fuck. Families are diverse in their thinking and if we have each other’s backs and keep the club out of trouble, we can build something solid.”

She rolls her eyes and looks at me like I’m stupid. “That’s easy to say but who the fuck do you have doing the cleaning? A wetback spic,” she bites out. “I was born in this country. I’m as American as you and your brothers, but I’ll always be a second-class citizen to the likes of you.”

I steal one of her tater tots because I’m cruel that way; I don’t rise to the bait. “We have three
white
women heading deep into withdrawals. They’re usually the ones who clean and every so often cook. They stay in a single-wide behind the clubhouse. Red’s in charge of them until they’re out of the woods or decide to leave and go back on the drugs.”

Her expression changes only slightly. “Those women never cleaned any part of that club and if you think they did, you’re dumber than most Bubbas.”

At least I understand this insult. I enjoy her spirit and sparring with her. And she’s correct about the cleaning aspect of the women’s job. I steal another tater tot.

“Eat your own,” she huffs.

I give her my best
who me
smile and take a drink of soda. “I know the whores cleaned things up every once in a while after Fox would finally put his foot down. They’re junkies. They do the minimum required for their next fix and most of that was on their backs or knees. They can get off the drugs or get out—”

“You call them whores and talk about them servicing your club like they’re some form of animal and you expect them to do what you say,” she interrupts. “Has it ever occurred to you to offer them respect?”

My food is gone and I look longingly at her tater tots again. She pushes them toward me. I finish them off quickly and try to explain to an outsider. “Club whores serve the brothers. They have no problem with the distinction or they wouldn’t be there to begin with. In most clubs they want to snag one of the brothers and become an old lady. That’s not the way things have been with Fox in charge. They whore for drugs. The men treat them like shit and the guys who have old ladies seldom brought those women around. Again, I plan to change that. Red’s now Curly Sue’s old lady and I think she has what it takes to put her foot down and keep the
ladies
in line.”

Sofia sips her drink and stares off into the same hills I looked at a few minutes ago. “Do you plan to ever allow me to leave or are you just extending my life expectancy by a few weeks?”

I rest my hand on hers. She doesn’t pull away. Her skin is so damned soft in contrast to mine. “Whether you believe it or not, I fought for you, princess. These men don’t want to kill a woman, but they have a strict sense of loyalty to the club and none of them plans to return to prison. You’re a threat. I won’t make promises I can’t keep but I will do my damnedest to make sure you survive.”

She stares down at our hands before raising her gaze to mine. “What about you? I know you could get me out of here if you wanted to. I’ll never say a word. Hell, I planned to kill Frank and then I pointed the gun at you. I can’t tell anyone the truth.”

If only it were that simple. “You interfere with the club, you pay a penalty,” I tell her. “I also won’t risk what I’m trying to build.”

Her eyes are direct when she throws her next question at me. “Am I one of the whores or is my Latina blood too much for your
brothers
to handle?”

This shouldn’t piss me off but it does. I don’t want to think of her spreading her legs for anyone but me. “Is that what you want? There are plenty of
brothers
who will take you up on the offer now that Fox isn’t in charge. If you have the itch to share that pussy, be my guest. There’s always a price for everything in life and maybe you’re even better on your back than you are at cleaning.” I’m surprised she doesn’t slap me. Her hands clench into fists and I know she wants to.

“You’re a dick, you know that, dog fucker.”

Sofia

I’M FUMING. WHAT THE
hell did he expect me to think? I’d rather have it spelled out than worry about whose bed I’m sleeping in each night or, better yet, who I’m blowing at the bar. I’ve spent my life facing threats and not hiding. Asshole.

I’m on the bike again and I’m holding on for dear life. He’s pissed off and flying like the wind back to the clubhouse. I keep my eyes closed as he takes the sharp curves through the hills without slowing. The hot, dry air hits my face and there’s nothing pleasant about the ride.